


beauty out of ashes

by angelwriter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dark Aziraphale (Good Omens), Falling In Love, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Opposites Attract, Pain, Romance, Slow Burn, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22787518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelwriter/pseuds/angelwriter
Summary: We are so different, maybe too different. I cannot help but want to kiss your lips, feel the ghost of your breath on my neck. Feel the slide of your hands on my body. You burn me. You consume me. I am heated by your gaze and scorched by your words. It is never enough – this desire within me will never be doused.Why do I want you this way?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 75





	1. 1: cigarette burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Aziraphale believes Crowley doesn't feel the same. And it is burning him into ashes. . .

Chaoticsoul gave the prompt that sent this fic alight 

Inspired by drawlight's fic: PHANTASMAGORIA 

AJ (@ penguiqueen on Twitter) said that this fic I wrote reminds her a lot of Drawlight and I take that as both a compliment and an insult to have her think I was channeling instead of doing my own writing. I promise this is all my own. 

After having this idea and deciding to write this story, I found this truly heart-wrenching fanvid by SarahChanWolfed_ Please give it watch it will have you in TEARS! (At least I was...) 

I have linked the vid on my Twitter- @ neverhidelove 

__________

I burn my hands on you like you burn your hands with your cigarette bud. You place it to your skin and watch it singe red, blotched and stinging. You like the pain. I like it, too. I like the way you seem to breathe fire when you speak with passion, your aura hot and smouldering. Your hair the colour of flames. I am white next to you. I want to be smoke-washed by your touch, sullen and ash marks all over me. My pale hair needs your fingers to tug my scalp until it hurts. I need your edges jagged and narrow limbs and sharp bones fitted into my wholesome, plumpness. We are so different, maybe too different. I cannot help but want to kiss your lips, feel the ghost of your breath on my neck. Feel the slide of your hands on my body. You burn me. You consume me. I am heated by your gaze and scorched by your words. It is never enough – this desire within me will never be doused. 

Why do I want you this way? 

Deepening my longing with thoughts of you when I’m alone in my bed only seeks to ruin me further. It is dark, this want. Nothing can sate it, but you. It is maddening and cruel the way you brush me off, pretend not to be kind when I know deep down you are. You are good. So good. You don’t need to hide your darkness. I want you all the same. I want to know what the ceiling looks like from your bed and where the light comes in from the window, I want to capture the rays on my hands and see it gleaming on your face in the bright of the morning. I want to wake with you next to me. I want all these things and more. If you’d just let me hold you in my hand, let me stroke you and coax you. Let you flow into me and let me wash you, miracle you free from your suffering. I crave to be deeply married to you that they cannot separate us or know us apart, live in your bones, swim in your blood, be merged with you, I want it so that no one else has ever seen like this before. 

I know that is selfish. 

I know these things, I know the wrongs of my choices. I know it is dangerous. 

Tell me how to love you another way then. I don’t know any other way than this. 

*

Aziraphale puts his shaking hand down. The pen slicked with ink at the tip falls down and spills over the page that is messed with all his etchings that resides in his heart. The words he couldn’t dare say, the fiercely-rooted, ever-growing desperation of his want for Crowley. He hadn’t planned on writing this out. Ever since Crowley had taken up smoking in the past eleven days, he had needed some way to purge all his thoughts. He said that smoking was a way for him to think, something for him to do and focus on. His mind was a whirlwind of all that was happening to both of them. The stress was too much for him. Aziraphale didn’t understand the need to inhale toxins, but Crowley was not human so it didn’t harm him in any way. 

Aziraphale had taken writing and was working on his ancient calligraphy. He kept several pieces of parchment on hand and had kept an ink pen in pristine condition. He had dipped the pen in ink, practiced the slants of his words, spelt out his names, and parts of lines from his favourite poetry. After a while he became unbidden in his writing and words seemed to form without his permission. He read through what he wrote and his body shuddered with the honesty of all he had said. His chest felt warm like he had been drinking bourbon. It spread down to his belly towards his limbs, coiling over the tendons of his feet. He felt sweat all over his skin. Even the thought of Crowley burned him. 

“Oh bugger,” Aziraphale swore for the third time in his entire existence. 

It was a chaotic sort of thing, his feral heart. This magnetic pull he felt began in Eden and hadn't stopped. Crowley must have noticed and he probably thought he was a fool. He picked up the piece of parchment and threw it into the dustbin next to him. There would be no more of that, he told himself. Keep it safe and locked away that was the only way he was going to survive this. If Hell found out they would destroy him and Aziraphale couldn't bear to even think about what would happen to Crowley. He had to protect him as he had always done. 

The bell chimed to alert someone coming into the bookshop. Aziraphale emerged from the backroom and found Crowley standing there with a box of red velvet cupcakes and a bag of assorted chocolates. He looked just as good as the last time he saw him (which arguably was just three days ago, but still. Crowley always look good) and Aziraphale could sense the familiar happiness spark in his body from his fingers to his toes. It was inevitable that he would feel this around Crowley, a sense of calmness of the ease that they had cultivated over 6000 years of knowing each other. It was natural the way Aziraphale would beam and invite Crowley to lunch or to have some wine in the back of the bookshop. 

But now fearing the exposure of his emotions that had tipped over the edge and he could still feel the warmth of the pen between his fingers, he pushed him away. 

"I'm busy. Could you come by later?" 

This was not the most aggressive way he could do this. He was not like others or Crowley that could give him the cold shoulder and leave him waiting around for days after him. Aziraphale didn't want to lose Crowley and even though he would have dinner with him in the evening, Aziraphale needed time alone to collect himself. 

"Oh. I get it. Sure, angel. We still on for dinner at that French place?" 

"Yes. Of course," Aziraphale said a bit too quickly, stumbling over his words. 

"Are you alright?" Crowley furrowed his brows in concern. Aziraphale noticed his lips forming a slight pout. He was clearly worried and on to him. 

"Tickey-boo, my dear." 

He hoped Crowley couldn't detect the slight wobble in his voice. It was worse knowing Crowley cared for him. Worse with the thought that he had affections for Aziraphale, but not in the way he desperately wanted and needed. There was a stinging sensation, like a burn across his chest. 

Was that the pain of love? The longing and loss. The dangerous and wretched nature of his angelic self that craved a demon? Lusted after his flesh. Desired to be needled like a piece of thread into his skin, injected into his veins. To be so close he became one entire being. The ache of love that sung in his heart for centuries. The night of the bombing of the church in 1941 when he realised how deeply his affection went, how he knew he loved Crowley despite everything they were. There was love, yes, and lust. There was it all. Every emotion Aziraphale felt, before there even was a name for it. He had felt it all. It went beyond human comprehension and outlasted time itself. 

How great thou art? 

Aziraphale could only wish to be loved even a tiny bit as much as how he loved Crowley. 

He swallowed and walked away, leaving behind a confused demon and a box of uneaten treats that he wished he could haven taken to just in some way show how he really felt instead of giving in to fear and leaving him alone. The food was a given in their relationship. They fed each other. Treated each other. Took each other out. It was how they showed they cared. For Aziraphale it meant: I love how you take care of me and are willing to make me happy. For Aziraphale it meant: you are so good to me. To care for my needs, to save me from my troubles, here let me repay you. Let me buy you lunch. Let me help you now. It was a give and take. An easy routine they had fallen into that didn't feel like an obligation or something they did out of mere habit. They wanted to. At least Aziraphale thought Crowley wanted to. Why else would he want to be around? 

Crowley could be with anyone else. He could have any friend he wanted to. Any demon to tempt with. He stayed with Aziraphale through the years and the angel always wondered why. He knew better than to question. 

This is how it is to love you; a cigarette burn to my heart.


	2. 2: fire to my soul

The French cuisine was up to Aziraphale's standards. Crowley wouldn't just take Aziraphale anywhere, he knew his tastes by now. One of things Aziraphale liked about this restaurant was that it overlooked a lake. He forgot what this lake was called but he enjoyed looking at the grey waters and seeing the beautiful sunset made from colours of flames disappearing within them as the flames fell from the sky and mixed with black. Aziraphale kept thinking of how it turned from burnt orange to pink then it swirled into blue before becoming grey as if the flame was dying. Black washed over the bright colour eventually and dusk was at its end. 

They had finished their third meal by the time the stars began appearing and Aziraphale became a little uneasy as the nighttime drew near. They usually would walk around Soho chatting and then going back to the bookshop for more drinks. He couldn't bear it this time. There was something about the closeness of his feelings that rushed to the surface that afternoon that made him want to distance himself. He had thought he had righted himself before their dinner, but seeing Crowley sitting there next to him and the way his presence screamed at him...it was all too much. Fire ignited into his soul, flashing colour and creating light within him. It showed everything he had kept hidden inside. Exposed. 

He fiddled with the napkin and wiped his mouth after stuffing it with some strawberry tart. He didn't even register what it was, he just needed a distraction from his thoughts. Crowley was sitting drinking his wine in a relaxed manner. His eyes were on the lake and Aziraphale followed his gaze to all the constellations now in the sky. Did he miss it up there? The stars? He had heard Crowley had created it. Gabriel had made some flippant comment about how it's literally just meaningless balls of gas. Aziraphale thought the humans loved his creation so much so that they even used them to guide their journeys, made stories about them and named them, and even wished on them. Aziraphale thought it looked beautiful from down here. Without the stars it was all just black. 

The moonlight shone over the lake illuminating it and Aziraphale thought it was time to leave. He glanced at the couples around them who were laughing and enjoying the evening. Did he suddenly now notice the romantic setting or did they alwaya go to places like this? People had on a few occasions throughout their life on Earth assumed they were together. Aziraphale's heart always twisted in itself whenever Crowley winced at the word and how he forever said no. They weren't even friends were they? Aziraphale had made that clear when he cut off their relationship before Armageddon. They were on opposite sides after all. 

But something had changed after they had saved each other from Heaven and Hell. Something happened. They were safe from the onslaught and the rules. They were free presumably. Aziraphale said in Crowley's body for them to leave them alone. And they did. They were left without the power of Hell and the suffocating heaviness of Heaven. They could do what they wanted. Do as they always did. Now was the perfect time for Aziraphale to tell Crowley...or better yet show him how he felt! Aziraphale looked over at the demon and watched his soft expression, calm and shoulders resting lightly on the seat. He was always at peace when he was with Aziraphale. He made Crowley comfortable, allow him to be himself. 

Was this just a friendship in the human terms? Did they feel more having known each other for 6000 years? Surely after all that time it couldn't merely be a sort of comfortable affection? It must be more. It could be a form of love they had for each other. Aziraphale once pretended that it was merely platonic. That this ran only by their relationship of convenience and that they enjoyed each other's company. Purely social. And he used that excuse many times when he wanted to get out of having to reveal why he stayed and wanted Crowley around. It was more, much more than that! So many words and none could capture it. Love was something an angel could sense, could know deep in their soul. Angels could love everything and all. But this was Crowley! Crowley! 

Crowley who knew him best. Who was by his side through everything. Who risked his life for him. Who wanted to run away with him. Who saved him more times than he cared to admit. Crowley. The only one who understood what it was like to be on this Earth, who could know what it was like to be different, reject where you came from, who was his family more than Heaven ever was. Crowley was his home. Of course there was no way Aziraphale couldn't not fall in love with him. This was the demon that was kind, caring, honest. He was so inquisitive and outgoing and sparky. He was different from Aziraphale, but oh how he loved that. Aziraphale was a bit of a bastard as Crowley had mentioned at the Ritz that day that they saved each other from hell fire and holy water. Aziraphale loved that Crowley knew. Always knew. 

"You want to go, angel?" Crowley turned to him. 

"Yes. Thank you for the meal." He sat up straighter in his seat. 

"No problem." He snapped his fingers and the meal was paid for. "What do you want to do now? We could walk around the lake? We can sit by that tree and have a bottle of your finest wine?" 

Crowley was suggesting again. Playful demon. Tempting. He didn't mean it in that way of course. It was the sort of thing they did. They drank and said stupid things and went on about the world. It was harder for Aziraphale while drunk not to slur compliments at the demon or gaze at him lovingly as he spoke on and on about the big brains of sea creatures. Crowley was ever so lovely drunk, his glasses off and golden eyes glowing.

Aziraphale nodded wearily. "Sure. I will miracle something from the 19th century perhaps." 

"Sounds good. Let's go." 

He swung out of the chair, his long legs swaying to the side and he stood up tall and proud. There was something almost new about Crowley after Armageddon was rightfully avoided. He was happier than he had been before. Aziraphale didn't know what to make of it. He got up and as they sat down under the tree (sitting on a tartan blanket that Aziraphale had miracled up, too) drinking the wine out of the bottle. Aziraphale was going to use glasses until the demon took the bottle and placed it directly onto his lips. This was probably the closest he would ever get to tasting Crowley's lips. 

After their third or fourth bottle, Crowley's tongue was looser and this was the part Aziraphale enjoyed the most. He could know Crowley's thoughts. Even if it was just about the world and its strange objects and theatres and films he liked. 

"Saw a cartoon on the supposed Last Day of the World. It was about two little bunnies. I likes those bunnies. Hastur showed up on the screen and killed them. Blood everywhere. Squirting. Don't think the man at the theatre noticed much. He was rather drunk. Or sleepy." 

Aziraphale took the bottle from him and took another sip. "Why didn't you go to Alpha Centuari again? Were you that upset that Ligur died?" 

"Ligur?" Crowley groaned. "Why would I care if he died? I'm the one that killed him." 

"I thought you were so upset that you to kill him. You said it changed your mind. That you had lost your best friend." 

"That was you!" 

Aziraphale paused. "Me?" 

"When your bookshop burnt down I thought you died..." 

"You...you thought I died? And while the world was ending you just got drunk? You were that upset?" 

"I didn't ...I didn't want a world without you. I couldn't save it. Would be no point. How can I stop Armageddon and have the world again if there was no one to share it with? Who else am I going to go out with like this and drink wine with? Didn't see the point. You know?" He sniffed and had another swig of the bottle. 

Aziraphale didn't feel for wine anymore. "You did all this for me? To live with me?" 

"Yeah." Crowley lengthened the word and shrugged like it didn't mean anything. "Not that big of a deal, angel. We came out alright in the end. Told you we could do it." 

Aziraphale wanted to ask so many things. Thousands of questions raced through his head. He longed to know his thoughts, what it all meant. If Crowley felt even a little bit of what he did that would be enough. Aziraphale bit his lip and opened his mouth. His body burned up and fear clutched him again. No. He couldn't risk it. He stayed silent and drank some more. He got the world back and he still had Crowley. He couldn't lose him like that over frivolous emotions of love.


	3. 3: up in smoke

[Wolf Larsen - If I Be Wrong] 

There was a time when Aziraphale was curious about the lust of the flesh. Humans seemed to crave more than most creatures and it hadn't occurred to Aziraphale why if it was just for procreation. He had been to a Gentleman's Club when Crowley and him weren't on speaking terms for the most part of the 19th century. There he had learnt about these intimate acts, these wiles and vile bodies laced with sweat pressed up against each other. 

It was only when he met with Oscar Wilde and Robbie Ross that he knew why humans did this. There was deep trust in exposing oneself, to lay naked. To bare one self and soul and feel safe. There was this kind of closeness you were supposed to feel when doing intimate acts. This was why you were supposed to do these acts. The shared getting to know each other, the discovery, the knowing each other, the bond it built between you and your partner. He knew now with the way Robbie and Oscar spoke about it and the way they looked at each other that love really existed. That he felt this for Crowley. 

One night when the bookshop was closed and he was alone, he sat down on his chair and decided to touch himself. He miracled a cock that seemed alright for the act. He closed his eyes and tried to stimulate himself with thoughts. His mind imagined faceless intimacy shared between himself and a nameless person. As he began stroking himself, the images that appeared were memories. A hand on a steering wheel tapping along to music. Legs clad in skin tight leather jeans. A narrow mouth in a perfect shade of pink. Red hair that cascaded down to the waist in luscious curls. 

He really shouldn't be thinking of Crowley, but his body immediately responded. Electric pulses sank down his spine and made his legs quiver as he gripped himself harder. He was achingly hard and dripping liquid all over his pants. He didn't care, he sought the heat and imagined Crowley's hot body on top of him. He could feel it lucidly - the weight of Crowley on top of him, the ragged breaths in his ear, their sweat mingling together, the look on Crowley's face as he slips inside Aziraphale's slick body. He could almost hear the intake of breath. The little moans Crowley would give. The image of Crowley's eyes half lidded and mouth parted was stuck in his mind. 

Crowley would say something like, "Are you hard for me, angel? Think I wouldn't notice it in your pants. Did you make that especially for me?" 

Aziraphale groaned under his breath as Imaginary Crowley whispered hotly into his ear. Crowley's voice set him alight. The lewd tone, the deep notes like gravel, the sighs of pleasure. Aziraphale couldn't control the spasms that took hold of him. His body shivered as the overwhelming sensation took over. 

"You feel so good, Aziraphale. Love being inside of you, warm and wet. You're tight. Feels so amazing I can barely take it. Did you slick yourself up for me? Did you spend hours getting yourself ready, opening yourself so I can slip in? Naughty angel... You're going to come for me," he hissed, licking the shell of his ear as he bottomed out of Aziraphale. He could feel the pulse of Crowley's cock within him. His head was thrown back and his mouth open with his pants as he inserted two fingers into his hole. 

"Yes, yes," Aziraphale moaned. "Crowley!" 

His body heaved as he came all over himself. Once his breathing calmed down, he snapped and miracled himself clean. He kept his Effort and tucked it into his pants. He could still smell the scent of his cum, felt the wetness of sweat covering his belly and the slick between his thighs. His face was coloured and neck flushed. He untied his bowtie and unbuttoned two buttons on his shirt, feeling positively scandalous. 

"Well that was something," he said to himself. 

He got up and walked to make himself some coca and also eat the jam biscuits he had bought for himself for tea time and didn't get a chance to eat yet. He sat by his desk again and nibbled on the biscuits. It was quiet evening by himself and for a moment he wondered what Crowley was doing. Probably shouting at his plants, watching something on his TV. Aziraphale wanted so much to be there with him, spoiled by all the time they spent together, he needed more. Could he run from this so easily? If this was him and Crowley was in love with him would he be able to handle it? Aziraphale fretted on how they were going to continue living like this. How he was going to live with knowing that nothing could be done about his feelings. He had done the right thing in keeping it a secret before. And yet. And yet there had to be a point when the dam bursts. 

There had to be a crack where he was allowed to spill. 

Some kind of way had to made so that he could share everything he wanted. If there was a will and a way he had to make this work. The same anxiety made it's way into his bones again, smothering him in smoke. What if this love was wrong? What if he wasn't meant to feel this? What if he was wrong and he could get Crowley killed? If he told Crowley then what difference would that make. Surely by now Crowley would have said something. It had been a month and Crowley continued on. He knew something had to give. He knew. He knew. He didn't know. He had no idea what to do. Should he say. Should he shut up and bottle it all again. He pulled at his messy white hair, sinking his teeth into his lip. 

This was wrong. This was a mess. 

He shouldn't have to feel this. He should just let it go. Forget it. This was agony; he was torturing himself. 

* 

"What are you in the mood for today?" Crowley asked as he leaned against the Bentley's door. 

They were outside Aziraphale's bookshop. It was a new day and the air was summery, smelling of freshly cut flowers and grass. Good Lord, he was gorgeous. Flame hair spiked up, his lips (always) inviting, and defined chest clad in a grey shirt. Crowley wasn't wearing his waistcoat this time. His sliver chain hung around his neck and once they were in the car, Aziraphale still deciding where to go, Crowley took off his black jacket. Aziraphale held his breath and dared to look at those arms he hadn't see for centuries. His biceps were strong and built, little red hairs littered his forearms and the backs of his hands. He was deliciously tanned. Aziraphale tried to pry his eyes away. 

Say it now. Say it! You fool, tell him! 

The little voice in his head screamed at him. He scolded himself and pressed his lips into a thin line. 

"What would you say to some chocolate brownies?" Aziraphale offered. 

Yes. Brownies would distract him. Food always did. He could close his eyes and be whisked away. Everything around him dissipating like smoke. For those few moments all he concentrated on was the delicious taste on his tongue. He didn't have to think about Crowley who was right there and how wretched it was not to be able to have him.


	4. 4: praying to god

No words can hold you, my dear. You are ineffable. 

This frustration, I don't know how to get the words out. I have thousands of books, could quote every single line and every word that reminds me of you. Nothing can equate with who you are. The deep pitiful want that exudes in my chest and twists my entire being into unimaginable shapes to try to grasp your essence. I am searching for some kind of star for direction, an arrow pointing home, a lighthouse to show me the way, safeguard me so I know where I am going. I am in the darkness where I can't see. Each breath I take I can feel the absence of it. The corners and spaces and emptiness of you. I awake in the mornings with uncertainty. 

Each of us has stories to tell. We read stories of others and find joy and pain and share in the sorrow. We write our own stories, craft with our hands, feed it with our minds and watch it grow under our care. We know how to tell it even if we think we don't. I don't know what to do with mine. It's like a half remembered memory and the person whom you shared the memory with doesn't share in those experiences the same way you did so you can't tell what is true or not. It's almost sickening. That you try to cough up the crumpled sentences, paint the picture, but it's not there. 

It's not the same. Never right. 

***

Fear, that is what kills you, Aziraphale thought as he read over his new piece of paper. He had taken to writing all of it because having it sit here in his chest was all too much to take. It consumed it. It was violent, hostile, it held him in a choke hold. He should he praying to someone to save him. But who would listen? God had Her ineffable plan and he could not know it so that was out of the question, yet if he could speak to God he'd ask why he was made differently. 

Why was he different to the other angels? Why did he have to love a demon when everyone else deemed them evil? Was it that Crowley was Crowley and that deep down he really was a nice person? 

Aziraphale thought back to when he was pushed against a wall. He felt Crowley's body against his, that lean line. He flushed instantly. His stomach coiled with heat and he could barely contain the thoughts that evaded his mind. He wanted to kiss Crowley, thread his fingers through his hair, feel his hip bones and touch his chest. He wanted to feel the expanse of his body covering every part of him. He wanted to trace every part of him and breathe him in like air into his lungs. 

Crowley was made to be a sexual being. He was a demon after all. A tempter. Hips like a snake, body lithe and moving as if the world was playing music that he was constantly swaying to. Aziraphale noticed Crowley's body more that day. He saw it from afar, but that day he touched it. He felt it through clothes and his head spun just thinking of it. He was tempting him as he always was and Aziraphale never wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to that day he had him pinned against the wall. 

To kiss or not to kiss.... that is the question Aziraphale had been playing over in his mind for days now. What is one kiss? A simple kiss. Even on the cheek. That would be enough to sustain him. Right? 

Aziraphale knew the consequences, but once in 6000 years should be considered okay. I mean in England in the 1800s it would be okay for people to greet each other with a kiss. The French did it all the time. (He was tempted to when they met up in the Bastille. When they had crepes at the little restaurant there. Crowley looked so delicious in those tights, he could have him for lunch.) Surely it would be okay to thank him for everything he had done for him. 

Crowley was seated on his couch in the bookshop at 8 PM that evening. They were drinking wine and talking about sea mammals again. This debate would never settle. It was fun, probably the most fun he had on his time on the planet. It wouldn't be the same on his own if he hadn't met Crowley. He drank down his wine and filled up his glass again. 

"Angel, what do you like sea turtles feel when they hear that they have a cousin that walks on land?" 

"I don't know. Who would tell the sea turtles though?" 

"Some creature that can walk on both sea and land! Crocodiles!" 

"They are fresh water creatures, Crowley." 

"Oh." He burped. "Someone must tell them then!" 

Crowley slumped down on the couch and Aziraphale, who was in his chair, watched Crowley's long legs stretch out in front of him. He gingerly got up and sat next to Crowley. His glasses were off and his eyes were the colour of amber. Crowley looked at him as if to ask why so close to him. Aziraphale plucked up the courage and leaned closer to him. There was moment of tension and of heavy silence. Aziraphale bent upwards and closed his eyes tightly. He moved slowly until his lips lightly brushed Crowley's cheek. 

There. That wasn't so hard, was it? 

Aziraphale wiggled in delight and sat back comfortable on the couch. He looked over at Crowley, still feeling the heat on his lips where it touched his cheek. His skin was just as soft as he imagined it would be. Aziraphale gaged Crowley's reaction. He was flushed, probably from the alcohol, and he was staring straight ahead and not moving. He seemed to be frozen. 

"Oh dear," Aziraphale muttered. "I'm sorry. Did I overstep boundaries? Forgive me, Crowley!" 

Crowley didn't even blink. His stomach sank and he edged away from the demon. Crowley whisked towards him quick as a viper and grabbed hold of Aziraphale's face in his hands. Aziraphale shivered in Crowley's grasp. 

"Why did you do that?" His voice was just above a whisper. 

Aziraphale couldn't answer. His throat restricted and he desperately wanted to purge the alcohol in his system and explain everything -- that it was a mistake, that he didn't mean anything by it. But Crowley's lips were so close to his that their breaths were mingling. He could smell the wine on his breath, the faint scent on his clothes that was so remarkably Crowley that Aziraphale wanted to shut his eyes and melt into his embrace. Crowley's eyes held him hostage. Those yellow snake eyes pulling him in and he wracked his brain to understand what was going on and what would happen if he leaned in to kiss his lips instead. 

"I...I just wanted to t-t-thank you," Aziraphale blubbed. 

"For what?" His voice was lower, darker. It made Aziraphale's insides twist with heat. 

"For everything..." 

"And what is that, angel?" 

"Uh...For saving me during the Blitz. And the Bastille and for letting me take you out for oysters. For all the lunches you have paid. All of it." 

Crowley inhaled deeply. "It's my pleasure, angel. Anytime." 

He moved away and Aziraphale let out the breath he had been holding. That was a close one. He wondered what would have happened if he had kissed Crowley. He should have just kissed him! Yet his lips still tingled from the kiss on the cheek. If it had such a profound effect with just his lips on his cheek...who knows what his lips would feel like?


	5. 5: let beauty come out of ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote chapter 5 and added parts of chapter 6 with it. This is the final chapter. Hope you enjoy!

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud. Waiting. Suspended. Just on the brink of spilling its waters, tethering on the edge of a rush of emotion that would flood and gush out as if concealed in a cage inside your heart. These words held little meaning for cliche sayings were frivolous in its attempt to adequately describe what transcends itself. 

Yes, these words were of little consequence, but deeper and darker as it came tumbling out without as much as a thought. It was uttered and they said words spoken out loud had some sort of mystic power. It was the most dangerous weapon and sharpest tool. Powerful in its complexity and yet simple in it structure. There was no taking it back. He could pretend and carry on -- surely he could. 

But there was no taking back once it was said. 

Crowley had heard it and now everything would change. Aziraphale snagged on his bowtie to feel something in his hands. He drained the last bit of alcohol from his glass and placed it on his desk table. Crowley looked up at him expecting him to say more, to elaborate and rant on in shameful bursts of speech like he usually did when he was nervous. There was nothing else to say. He was certain that his voice portrayed the depth of his expression perfectly. Longing and agony and desperation all rolled into three tiny little words that couldn't even begin to contain it. 

"I love you," Aziraphale whispered. 

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. There was a silence for quite some time. Crowley definitely felt tongue-tied. 

"Angel..." he could only manage to say. It was soft, voice laced with what Aziraphale imagined was longing that matched his own. 

"You don't need to say anything back. Don't lie to spare my feelings. I've done quite alright without telling you and you not knowing. I'm sure I can cope with you not feeling the same." 

"When did I ever say I don't fee the same?" Crowley's voice wobbled a fraction, his bottom lip jutting out in a saddened pout. "How can you think I don't?" 

"You mean you do have feelings for me?" Aziraphale's blue eyes widened in delight and surprise. 

"Aziraphale, how do I explain this to you? I have wanted you practically since the Beginning. Since the Garden. You said: I gave it away and something in me snapped...or switched on or something. I started looking at you differently. It was only in Rome did I actually understand what it was." 

"You mean to say that you love--" 

Crowley nodded. Yes. I do. I love you, angel." 

Aziraphale felt his entire body set alight from the love that suddenly burst through Crowley. He felt it in every pore and cell of his body. He was burning with it. He leaned forward and placed his hands on Crowley's shoulders. Crowley leaned in towards him, licking his lips to prepare himself for the kiss. Both of them shut their eyes. There was the briefest pause as their lips hovered above each other, it seemed to last an eternity. This was it. 

Their lips met with a feather light touch. The softest feeling of Crowley's lips on his own had his head spinning and body burning with heat. Aziraphale couldn't help but moan out loud. His cheeks flushed and he increased the pressure of the kiss. Crowley did not move yet. Aziraphale allowed himself to kiss Crowley slowly, savouring each slide of their lips together. He was kissing Crowley like he would try out a new flavour of ice cream or dessert. He was getting high off of the emotions that swirled inside of him as the demon let Aziraphale move as he wanted to. He swiped an experimental lick onto Crowley's bottom lip, and Crowley shuddered. 

Crowley roughly pulled Aziraphale by his waist to press him against his body. Their bodies met at an awkward angle on the couch and neither of them cared. Aziraphale wanted to feel Crowley's lips on his for an eternity. Crowley deepened the kiss, holding his waist tightly and forcing all of his energy into each explosive touch of their mouths. A storm of emotions flooded into him as Crowley sucked at his bottom lip and slipped his tongue inside to explore his mouth. He swore he heard Crowley groan as Aziraphale bit and sucked at his lip in turn.

"I have wanted..." Aziraphale began, but words were cut short when Crowley nipped at the flesh of his neck. He let out a groan. "Crowley!"

"You have wanted?" Crowley's voice was gruff and deeply intoxicating.

"This. Just this. It feels like I have wanted this for a millenia." 

"Hm. Me too, angel." 

"What? Really?" He gasped.

"Angel. All I wanted to do was kiss you. For 6000 years I stayed by your side and you had no idea how much I wanted you? I tried really hard not to let on how I felt. I let you set the pace, kept my distance. Just as you did. I went slower for you." 

"I had no idea! Oh, Crowley, I was in agony. I was haunted by the thought that you could never feel the same. That slight chance you didn't, I couldn't take it. The things I dreamed about, the things I wanted to do to you and with you. I have wanted to love you in this way for many years now."

"Aziraphale. Aziraphale. You foolish Principality. I love you. Okay? You have to believe that. I wanted you the same way all this time. I was in pain, too. If only I had known you were hiding this."

"I was foolish, was I? I feel so embarrassed. I was punishing myself, thinking terrible things. I thought you could never want me in that way. In the...romantic and sexual way."

Crowley swiped his tongue over Aziraphale's neck sending shivers down his spine. "It's all I dream about when I sleep."

Aziraphale gripped Crowley tighter. "Show me."

"What?" 

"Show me what you've been dreaming about." 

Crowley kissed Aziraphale again, threading his fingers into the luscious white curls. "I dreamed about kissing you like this. My mouth on you, the taste of your tongue. I dreamed about undressing you. I wanted to see you, angel. Make you feel good. I wanted to be the only one to see what you look like that. You always enjoy things and I wanted to know how your face looks when I give you pleasure."

"Crowley," he half moaned and begged. "Please."

"You want me, angel? Tell me how much you want me." 

Aziraphale lept into Crowley's arms and straddled his waist. He rested his legs on either side of Crowley's body. His arms looped around the demon's neck and he rocked himself into him. They both let out a shuddering gasp as their bodies lined up, their mutual Efforts were hard and straining against their pants. Aziraphale could barely breathe, his body scorched whenever Crowley touched him.

"You make this Effort for yourself?" 

Aziraphale hummed in reply, too busy ravishing Crowley's neck and taking off his waistcoat. 

"Do you touch yourself while thinking of me?" Crowley asked, hands cupping Aziraphale's bottom and giving it a quick squeeze.

The angel sighed at the delicious friction that Crowley's hips were making. "Yes. All the time. Crowley, I want you so badly."

"You have me."

Crowley began undoing Aziraphale's waistcoat and then his blue shirt. Crowley took his time unbuttoning his shirt. He did it slowly and deliberately. His eyes had expanded so that more of the black showed, his eyes raked Aziraphale's body like he was a predator that was starving.

Aziraphale whined impatiently. He wanted his clothes gone. Now. He snapped his fingers so that his shirt was off and while he was using miracles, he took off Crowley's shirt as well.

"Not fair, angel. I wanted to do it."

"You have the whole evening to undress me and all the days after that to do what to like to me. I'm done waiting. Take me."

Crowley snatched in a breath at Aziraphale's words. It was so simple, two words that meant everything. For Crowley he had also wanted in this way and the reality of it was just a little overwhelming. His hands shook as he laid Aziraphale down on the couch, assuming to take the lead. He didn't even know what the angel liked, how to please him, but he was going to spend the next century finding out everything and giving it all to him. His eyes were alluringly expressive and Aziraphale gasped at the way Crowley was staring at him with so much love and desire. Crowley let out a shaky breath, his hands coming to land on Aziraphale's waist. 

"Oh, darling, are you nervous?" 

Crowley swallowed. "Ngk. Just a little. I just want it to be perfect for you." 

"It already is. Everything you do is perfect. Come and lay on top of me." 

Crowley did as Aziraphale asked. Hid body slithered down and he positioned himself over his love. Aziraphale's breath was escalated, his body trembling with excitement and nerves. Crowley placed tentative kisses down Aziraphale's sweaty neck. He licked down towards his collarbone sweeping along the curves and junctures of his body. Crowley explored the sweet expanse of his chest and belly, loving the little golden curls that sprung there around his navel. 

He sucked bruises into the fleshy parts of his stomach and bit into his hip bones and gorgeous love handles. The angel was soaking up the attention quite eagerly. He gripped the back of the couch and the other in a strong hold in Crowley's red hair. Crowley miracled their pants off so it was easier to move down to Aziraphale's thighs. His legs shivered as Crowley squeezed and tended to him with his mouth. He murmered incoherently, his aching member leaking out and dribbling over his body. 

"I want to taste you," Crowley huffed as he manoeuvred himself between Aziraphale' legs. 

Crowley's eyes landed on the beauty that was Aziraphale's corporation, exquisite in every way. "Oh, you're perfect, angel. I want to take away all the pain you have ever felt in believing that I didn't feel the same." 

He spread open his legs and then placed his mouth near his entrance. He licked over his hole and the angel squirmed. He teased the rim with a swirling lick and then pressed gently inside. He fucked Aziraphale slowly with his tongue, all the while his hands gripped his thighs and pressed him closer to him. Aziraphale moaned praises in languages of love, his whole body shivering and expanding with a shimmer of light. This was otherworldly. A heat Aziraphale had never known sank into his veins as Crowley found that bundle of nerves within him. He cried out and pulled at Crowley's hair. 

"Please, my dear. I need you." 

Aziraphale bit his lip as Crowley moved away and laid himself over him again. Crowley kissed him as his fingers slid inside. He opened him up with two fingers that was miracled slick. Aziraphale hummed and sucked onto Crowley's neck for purchase, his head going fuzzy with pleasure. Crowley finally took his fingers out after much murmuring from Aziraphale to just fuck him already. The demon chuckled at the angel's insistance and swearing. Crowley then lubricated his aching cock before entering Aziraphale. 

The first press of their bodies together took their breaths away. Crowley choked on air and guided himself fully inside. The pleasure was almost too much. The tight wet heat of him was nothing like he ever imagined. Aziraphale gripped onto Crowley's back, scratching and making marks. 

"My darling," he groaned. "You feel so amazing."

"Angel, fuck. I never thought that this would happen. I'm so happy...I feel so happy. Thank you. Thank you. I love you." 

Aziraphale swore there were tears in his eyes at the sheer ecstacy and relief he felt. Crowley loved him back and he was loving him in every way he needed and more. Their bodies moved fluidly together, both finding their release and pleasure. Crowley threaded their hands together and stared into each other's eyes as the first sunlight of a new day began beaming in through the windows of the bookshop.


End file.
